Now if that title seems a bit inappropriate, please forgive me and read on. You’ll figure it all out shortly. I think that you will likely agree with me as well, as you consider the view from my window.
The front of this tour has been amazing to say the least. After awesome April weekends in Texas, Georgia, Missouri and Arkansas, it was time to head out. The Arkansas church was one of the three that were so essential in our beginning. It was truly a blessed evening among great friends.
First stop after pulling “The VIrge” out of Greenville was a Thursday/Friday/Saturday “Cowboy Campout” with the second of those three churches. Time spent with these folks always seems much like a homecoming. Every worship service was a blessing. Every moment spent underneath the warm spring sunshine overlooking picturesque Lake Whitney was a memory in the making.
Following a great Sunday morning with yet another great church (and one of the most beloved Pastors we have ever met) it was time to head west again, on towards California. The second weekend of this tour happened to be at the third of those three churches. Didn’t plan it that way at all, but I sure like the way it worked out. The few mid-week days before that Sunday were spent at the Fort Griffin State Historical site near Albany Texas. This is a beautiful, remote location that beckons relaxation and reflection. So much so that we stayed an extra day.
When Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, the three and one half hour trip to that third special church promised to be a peaceful morning’s drive. The air was fresh and clear when we pulled out of the campsite and headed for the sanitary dump station. It was the last wonderful thing I would smell for days.
Pulling up to the dump station, I commented as we stepped out of the truck to do the necessary “dirty work”, that I wouldn’t want to be in that campsite right next to the dump station. “This is the smelliest dump I have ever been at”. Words that would haunt me for the next several… well, on second thought, they still do.
“Oh Joe”, Shaunda called from the other side of the RV, “something’s not right here”.
Oh how right she was. There was, shall we say, “water” streaming from the center of the RV underbelly. And then it hit me (not the “water”, just this thought). It’s not the dump that smells so bad. It’s us.
Dirty work completed, we left that campground as fast as we could. As the black tank drained, the “leakage” subsided. The smell did not. I pulled over to the side of the road as we drove through the small town of Albany to check… ok, to smell. I didn’t really have to get out of the truck. A man mowing his front yard passed out right behind his push mower. (That part is a bit exaggerated, but I’ll just bet you he would remember us).
On we drove to the west. The silence was broken only by Shaunda asking me what we were going to do, and me answering that I had no earthly idea. Repeat the conversation. Repeat the conversation. Repeat the conversation yet again.
It was then I remembered that I “knew a guy” at this little church we were going to. He’s a guy I have really had a lot of fun with every time we have visited this congregation. He had a few “unkind” things to say about cops. I had a few comments of my own to share. It was just one of those strange things where I felt like I really knew him. We have both experienced loss. This young guy also raises a little bit of cotton out in deep West Texas. Surely he had someone working in his operation who would want to do a really nasty job and make a ridiculous hourly rate. I was ready to pay any amount the repairman asked. Hundreds? Sure. Thousands? Maybe.
Nope, no one was available. He had already sent his hands home for the weekend. And then he stopped me in my tracks. “Bring it on over. I’ll bet we can fix it”.
“You don’t understand” I argued. “This is likely a mess… a real mess”.
He insisted, and I had no other options.
He met us along the main road to take us back to a little shop on a little cotton farm. Good thing he did. It was miles and miles down county roads. I finally pulled The Virge into the long driveway and up to the 25’ tall door on this “little” shop behind the house. It looked more like a giant warehouse to me. Every imaginable tool we could need. A few green painted cotton strippers in the back awaiting their next opportunity for work. In the field behind the shop stood more giant green tractors than I have fingers and toes. Add to that the other various implements and this city boy was bordering on overload. You see, this guy and his family farm more than ten thousand acres.
“Pull her on in” said my buddy.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Oh yeah”, came the answer.
I pulled The Virge in. He pulled a giant knife out. He rolled under the middle of the trailer and gave the plastic underbelly a quick slice. And then came a disaster of near Biblical proportions. Poopageddon.
“You’re right”, he said laughing and gagging. “Better back her outside!”
For the next three hours we laughed, worked and rolled around in the “water”. Not to be too graphic, and I’m not sure how or why this happened, but the black tank on The Virge had twisted and fallen down to the frame on one side. When it did, it tore loose the vent pipe. When the vent pipe came loose, it left a three inch hole in the top of the tanks. When we rounded the curves to the dump station earlier that day, the “water” sloshed out the top of the tank and into the underbelly.
Anyone sick yet? Imagine how I felt rolling around under the RV. Now imagine a friend rolling around with me for three hours on a Saturday… in someone else’s “water”.
Repairs finally complete, we headed to the place where we would camp that night. Following a bath of bleach and a ceremonial burning of my clothes, we went to the church to set up. Then it was on to the closest town (25 miles) for diesel fuel and a glorious Sonic supper at nine pm. Only then did the real dilemma of the weekend present itself. In a little more than twelve hours I would be preaching in church. I had previously selected my topic. I already had my theme chosen. I had selected my text on Friday.
I Thessalonians 5:18
In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
In everything?
EVERYTHING????
How could I possibly give thanks for what had just happened? Especially when the smell still lingered in my nasal passages. Perhaps it was just in my imagination. Yeah, that must be it ’cause I can STILL smell it. Probably always will.
And then I realized that I had much to be thankful for. Had this never happened, I would have never known that this cotton farmer in West Texas would be willing to make make such a sacrifice for us. Now let’s be honest here. This is a man who, as they say, could buy and sell me a hundred times over. And yet he would humble himself to solve a problem for me I could not solve by myself. Whether he even realizes it or not, we would likely have had to turn around and head back home, tour ended before it really began.
For the record, that Sunday was wonderful. This small church sits at a crossroads in the middle of cotton fields and oil wells. Services began at 10am. The Pastor gave me the service one minute later. Other than a short break, these folks worshipped with me, listened to me sing and heard me talk about our Journeys for the next hour and a half. And only THEN was it time for me to speak. I gave the text at the beginning of the sermon. At the close, I returned to that text, and man did I have an illustration to close the message.
You see, if I had never experienced the catastrophic failure of our waste system, I would have never realized the level of commitment that these folks have made to us. Even though I would likely never choose to relive such a disgusting situation, I am still thankful for what the situation revealed. I believe that somewhere in the middle of a cotton field in deep West Texas is a man driving a giant green tractor. And I think that guy may really be my friend.
Today, I am grateful for my crappy day.